The Widow's Walk
by brodeurgirl30
Summary: The name is said to have come from the wives of mariners who watch for their spouse's return, often in vain, leaving the women widows. An unimaginable turn of events leaves Bella torn between what society dictates and her heart's desire. How long can true love wait? Based on a true story.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This plot bunny has been bouncing around in my head for years. This will be a quick fic - about 10 chapters no more than 2,000 words each with regular updates as the story is already complete. As always, thanks to my fabulous beta simba517. She's the best!

The summer sun beat down relentlessly causing my skin to flush with heat. The sweat dripped from my brow until a damp spot darkened the sandy soil. Taking a deep breath I stood up straight, my back aching from hunching over the rows. I dropped the gardening fork and held my palms face up. Angry blisters covered the surface and stung nearly as bad as the time I stepped on a jellyfish washed ashore from the sound. Mother had grabbed a handful of sand and rubbed it over my skin all the while scolding me. A lady did not run barefoot. Surely this was God teaching me a lesson.

I didn't much care for a God that stung me with jellyfish.

Ladies did, however, slave away in the garden apparently—even in suffocating heat. I patted my throbbing hands on my apron and reached down to retrieve the garden fork when a dipper full of water appeared in front of my face. I smiled gratefully and took the handle from my mother, relishing the way it felt against my parched lips. It wasn't cold—nothing was in the town of Beaufort in late August, but it was wet and welcomed.

"Lord, child, your face is as red as a lobster."

"The weeds won't dig themselves up, Mother."

"No, but I suppose they'll still be here tomorrow, don't you?"

Dropping my eyes from her gaze, I took another sip from the dipper. I'd hoped to be done before tomorrow.

"Hmmm, what time is he due?" My mother always saw through me.

"If everything went accordingly, he should make port before dark. I was hoping to get this done today..."

"So you could spend tomorrow with him," she finished.

"Yes, Mother."

"Isabella, you know how I feel about that boy. Your conduct is unseemly—the way you run around after him!" She pressed her hand to her chest and I fought to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head in light of her dramatics. "It really is very unladylike. If he had any upbringing at all it would embarrass him—the way you carry on."

"I love him." I said.

"Love isn't enough, Isabella. You will learn that one day."

"Yes! And then I can be as happy as you and Father were before—"

Her hand came across the side of my face taking the sting out of my palms momentarily and replacing it with a fire in my cheek.

I blinked away the wetness in my eyes and met my mother's icy glare in defiance. "I'm going to see him whether you like it or not."

"Well then you're right about one thing, Isabella, " she said. "The weeds won't dig themselves up." With that, she turned and walked back into the house.

I worked until the sun mercifully began to lower in the sky then put the gardening tools in the clapboard shed my father built in the back yard. Bone weary, I climbed the stairs to my room and took in my appearance in the looking glass. My hair was a mess and my face certainly did resemble a lobster. Hopefully, most of it was brought on by the heat and the sun hadn't actually burned me such a shade. Letting my hair down, I brushed out the tangles before weaving it into a single braid down my back. I poured water from the pitcher into the basin and splashed it on my face and neck before running out to the landing built outside my second story window—an architectural design typical of houses in Beaufort. The widow's walk they called it. I never liked the word widow though. I couldn't bear what the name implied. If I'd heard the stories once, I'd heard them a thousand times—countless women who'd walked the widow's walk watching the horizon, waiting for their love to return home only to receive the worst kind of news in a seaport town.

His ship went down.

He is not coming home.

I turned my gaze towards the harbor and smiled as I saw his father's ship, The Maiden Song, already lowering its anchor. Running down the stairs I reached for the doorknob.

"Isabella?"

I turned to find my mother standing in the foyer, a blue ribbon clasped in her hand. She cautiously stepped forward and took my braid between her thumb and forefinger. She tied the ribbon around the end before holding my face in her palms and kissing my cheek.

"There," she said. "You look beautiful. I'm sure you'll be a sight for sore eyes."

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome." She took my face between her palms, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Now go. He'll be wanting to see you."

I grabbed my skirts and ran to the docks.

"Isabella!" my mother pleaded from the porch. "Manners!"

But, I didn't listen. Propriety be damned.

Edward was home!

The harbor bustled with a flurry of activity, salty air and the stench of fish filling my every breath. I darted around crates and jumped over tuna thrown onto the pier from fishing boats bringing in their daily catch. Carlisle Cullen's boat sat anchored further out, where the waters of the Core Sound lay deep. His ship, the second largest in port, ran supplies up the coast to New England and on occasion made the near six week voyage to the homeland followed by another six back to the Royal Colonies. Edward never accompanied his father on the journey to England. His mother, Esme, never allowed it. "I would not survive if I lost both my boys," she always said. Of course Edward fought her tooth and nail—headstrong and cocky—chomping at the bit to prove himself.

I stood at the end of the dock and watched as the men rowed the tender ashore, desperate for a glimpse, when I finally saw him in the third boat. The setting sun made his mop of bronze hair glow ablaze. Mother always made fun of his hair—calling it the color of a copper pence—but I secretly loved it.

I knew the moment Edward laid eyes on me. He stood—his smile rivaling the sun—waving, causing the boat to rock violently. "Bella! Bella!"

Laughing, I waved back blowing him a kiss for good measure. Finally the boat reached the dock and Edward scaled the ladder before the men could even secure the line around the horn cleat. His arms wrapped around my waist and I threw mine around his neck. He buried his face under my jaw and lifted me off the ground, spinning me in a circle once before setting my feet back on the ground.

He pulled back and looked at my face, tucking a tendril of loose hair behind my ear. "I missed you so much." He grinned and leaned down, capturing my upper lip between his.

Propriety indeed.

Whistles and catcalls filled the evening air, causing my cheeks to redden.

"Sorry," he smiled, pulling back.

"No you're not." I slapped his arm playfully.

"You're right. I'm not. I've been dreaming about that for five weeks."

"You've only been gone five weeks."

"Exactly." He slipped his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together before pressing his lips against my hair. "Can I walk you home?"

We strolled down the streets at a leisurely pace. We didn't speak much, simply content to be in each others presence again until reaching my front porch all too soon. Edward lifted my hand to place a kiss on my knuckles causing me to wince. He opened my closed fist and held it under the light of the porch lantern.

"Lord, Bella. What did you do to your hands?"

"I wanted to get all my work done in the garden so I could spend tomorrow with you." I glanced at the aftermath—the skin bubbling up in places, peeling in others—all of it angry and red. "I guess I overdid it."

"You should have told me. I held your hand all the way here."

"I wanted you to hold my hand, Edward." I took a step towards him, his hands coming to rest at my waist.

"Bella," he shook his head in dismay before lowering it to mine. His lips were soft and warm, gentle. His arms tightened, bringing me closer and I breathed deeply, drinking him in—his smell, his touch, his taste.

A throat clearing interrupted us. "Isabella, it is getting late. We should retire for the evening. Say goodbye."

I sighed and turned back to Edward. "I have to go."

He caught my wrists lifting my hands to inspect them again. "I don't like you working so hard, Bella."

"There's no one else to do it, Edward. Father's money is running out. Mother is too sickly and I'm all that's left. We have to eat."

"Shhh. I didn't mean to upset you. Don't worry. I have a plan. I'm going to take care of you."

"And Mother?"

"And your mother. We'll talk more in the morning. You better go inside before she has my neck."

I nodded and he pressed his lips to mine once, twice, three times.

"I love you, Bella."

I smiled and blushed causing him to grin. "Love you."

His plan was too good to be true and my heart nearly beat out of my chest as I lay in bed the next night, playing with the ring on my finger.

"It's only tin and glass," he apologized, "but when things get better, I'll buy you a real one—one of those fancy ones with all the engraving they wear in England."

"You hush up, Edward Cullen. This is perfect. I don't want another ring. I don't need any ring. All I need is you."

"You have me, Bella. Every day of forever. I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Someone questioned the time period. It is colonial America—mid 1700's—in Beaufort, NC.

Based on a true story.

Edward made me his wife in the eyes of the church, swearing to love and cherish me forever in late October. We married in the courtyard outside the chapel under the bright yellow leaves of birch trees. And that night, when we became one flesh in the eyes of God, I knew I'd never understood what it meant to love and be loved at all.

We spent a quiet winter together and Edward did as he promised. He moved into the house, taking over its upkeep. He restored the house to its former condition before Father had passed away and even put up with my mother, doting on her despite her obvious disdain towards him. But by early spring, Edward Cullen had worked his way even into her heart. It was more than once I'd caught her sneaking an extra slice of pie into his lunch pail.

Things were perfect for everyone, but as the last of winter melted into spring a restlessness settled in my husband's bones and I awoke many nights to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Slipping into my housecoat, I found him sitting in a rocking chair he'd pulled out onto the walk staring out over the sea. I wrapped my arms around his neck, running my hands down the front of his chest beneath his night shirt. He encircled my wrists and guided me in front of him where he pulled me down to him—my legs on either side of his hips. Reaching up, I ran my fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp as he leaned forward pressing kisses to the tops of my breasts exposed by the V of my night gown.

"I don't want to leave you." He burrowed deeper into my chest as I held him to me, resting my cheek atop his head.

"I know."

"But, I miss it—the sea—it calls to me."

"I know. I understand, Edward."

"You do?" He looked up, his eyes glassy.

"You wouldn't be you, the Edward I love, if you didn't love the sea. It's part of you."

"It is."

"When are you leaving?"

"Next week. Friday."

"Where to?"

"Virginia."

"Edward, you'll only be gone for a week," I laughed.

"It's still too long to be away from you and I know we need to get the garden planted."

"I can do it."

"No. I told you I don't want you working so hard." He lifted my hands and placed kisses against both my palms. "I've hired someone to help you."

"Oh?"

"Peter Gibbs. You know him. He lives with his father two houses down. He will tend to the garden and anything else you need while I'm away."

"Edward, you don't have to-"

"Hush now. It's settled."

Edward left the following Friday and though I tried to be strong for him, I still cried. Seven days felt like an eternity without him. Mother drove me crazy and Peter Gibbs, God bless his soul, followed me around like a lost puppy.

"Are you sure there is nothing I can get for you, Mrs. Cullen?"

"No. Thank you, Peter."

"And Mrs. Swan?"

"No, Mr. Gibbs. She's resting. Edward should be home tomorrow. I'm sure we will manage until then. Thank you for your help."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"It's been a pleasure, Mrs. Cullen. Please let me know if you need anything in the future."

"I will."

He made it as far as the gate. "Don't hesitate to call!"

"I won't. Thank you, Mr. Gibbs." I fought back a giggle.

Edward returned on time just as he promised and life slipped into a routine. Run shipments. Home for two weeks. Run shipments. Three weeks home. Shipments. Home. I missed him dearly, but it made the moments we did have sweet. I laid in bed two nights before his final trip of the season snuggled into Edward's arms. His breath was even and warm on my hair. Lifting my head I ran my nose along his jaw—the stubble there scratchy against my skin.

"Mmmm." He tightened his arms around me.

"I don't want you to leave tomorrow," I whispered into his skin.

"I know, but the sooner I go the sooner I return home. I'm looking forward to staying warm with you this winter, Mrs. Cullen."

"I will miss you."

"You're not accustomed to it, yet?"

"No. I could never become accustomed to such a thing. Being without you...I would die if—"

He didn't let me finish, rolling me underneath him and silencing me with his lips. "Hush, now. Don't talk like that. I'll be home before you know it." He kissed me again, silencing any further argument by pressing himself against me, his hand slipping under my nightgown.

I awoke with a start covered in cold sweat—unable to contain the terrified scream that tore from my chest. Edward bolted upright, immediately pulling me into his arms. My heart stuttered an uncertain rhythm against my ribs.

"Shhh, Bella. It's ok. What is it? A nightmare?"

"I don't know," I sobbed into his nightshirt trying to remember the dream, but all my mind could recall was a horrible feeling of dread. "Just please don't leave me."

"Bella-"

"No! I'm not wrong, Edward! Something awful is going to happen!"

"Bella, we've been through this. I've always come home to you like I promised. Everything will be fine, sweetheart. You'll see."

"This is different. I can't explain it. Just please! We'll make do. I've been saving. Every pence. Just please don't go."

"Hush, now. Calm down before you make yourself sick with worry. You know I would stay if I could, but it's not only me. My crew. They're relying on this job to get their families through the winter. I can't renege."

Sleep never found me and as the sun broke over the horizon I still could not shake the feeling of alarm gripping my heart. I slipped my hand into Edward's, lacing my fingers with his as he slung his bag over his shoulder. We walked silently through the streets of Beaufort making our way to the docks. Edward tossed his ditty bag to one of his mates loading the tender and then turned to me. I looked everywhere but at him—not wanting this to be the last time I saw him.

He caught my chin and lifted it so that I could not help but gaze at his beautiful face. My bottom lip quivered and my eyes stung with tears.

"Bella," he whispered, his face contorting in pain as he took in my expression. I knew he felt terrible about leaving me and I didn't want to make it any harder, but the knot in my stomach tightened. My anxiety tripling since we reached the docks.

"Don't go," I pleaded. "Please."

He said nothing, but bent down to kiss my forehead, my nose, and finally my lips. I reached up and unclasped the locket from my neck, slipping it around his and fastening it.

"To keep you safe," I said.

"Four weeks. Four weeks and I'll be home."

"I'll walk the docks everyday," I promised.

"No. Just look out your window."

"How will I know it's you?"

"Look for the three lanterns hung off the port bow. Besides—you'll know. You'll feel it here." He placed his palm against my chest, over my heart.

I threw my arms around his neck. "Promise me," I breathed, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"I promise, love. I'll be home before you know it."

His lips crashed against mine and he crushed me to him. We held nothing back, pouring all our love, our passion, and our fear into the kiss though the dock was crowded. He sucked on my bottom lip gently before parting my lips with his tongue. I pressed myself to him as his hand slid low on my back.

"I think we're putting on a show." I pulled away trying to remember myself—my cheeks hot. Could I ever maintain some semblance of decorum around this man?

"That we are, Mrs. Cullen. Scandalous." He ended with three chaste kisses then pressed his forehead to mine. "Four weeks, Mrs. Cullen, and the first thing I'm going to do when I get back is fix that squeaky gate you despise so much." He tried to lighten the atmosphere. I hated that confounded gate.

I smiled. "The first thing?" I raised a brow at him, playing along.

"Well, maybe not the first." He grinned salaciously.

"I'm holding you to that," I whispered, the momentary levity evaporating. He stepped away, squeezing my hand before letting go completely.

I watched as he descended the ladder into the tender and rowed away from the dock. The boat bobbed along until finally he reached The Maiden Song. I watched as Edward climbed aboard. I watched as the crew hoisted the anchor. I watched until his ship became a speck on the horizon.

And from the widow's walk, I watched for the next three years.

FFN has made it so easy to review. Please take the time to do so. It really makes my day.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. It means the world to me. Now it's time to play the trust your friendly neighborhood author game. This is based on a true story so some decisions are out of my hands, but I wouldn't have made it the basis of my story if it wasn't a great story. So trust me! Now on with chapter 3.

Based on a true story.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Mrs. Cullen?"

"No thank you, Mr. Gibbs."

He tipped his hat and walked to the gate.

Peter Gibbs had been faithful in his promise to Edward. He stopped by everyday to check on Mother and me. He tended the garden and fixed the squeaky hinge on the gate. The gate Edward promised to fix. And I hated him for it. I resented his presence. He wasn't Edward. I didn't want anyone to take my husband's place in our home.

As time marched on, Mother's health deteriorated. Her care required my constant attention and my reluctant dependence on Peter grew. He never complained and if I were honest with myself, I came to rely on him though I continued to treat him with nothing more than cold professionalism.

"Isabella. Please let me talk to you." My mother patted my hand as I made sure she was settled for the night.

"Are you warm enough?" I asked, ignoring her request.

"He's a good man. Peter."

"I'm a married woman, Mother."

"Until death do you part," she reminded me of my vow. "Edward's gone, sweetheart." I closed my eyes as her words stole my breath, but couldn't stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks.

"You don't know that," I whispered.

"His ship never made Virginia. It's been three years. You have to let go."

"I-I can't. I don't want to. I won't."

"I can't leave you like this. I need to know you are taken care of."

"I can take care of myself."

"It's a man's world, Isabella. A woman cannot make it alone."

"You did," I argued.

"Only because your father made it possible for me to do so. Edward...he left you with nothing."

I jerked my hand from her. "Do not speak ill of him! I won't allow it!"

"I have nothing against Edward. These are the facts!" she stated bluntly. "I was wrong about Edward. I know that now and I have no doubt that if God would have granted you longer...He didn't have time to take care of you. You lost him too soon. You were so young and so in love. It broke my heart to see you suffer so. It breaks my heart still. But Isabella, you have nothing. Your father's money is gone. And you have nothing put back. Am I wrong?"

I shook my head. Her words pierced my heart and I fell into a fit of sobs. She clutched my hand again and pulled me to her. I laid my head on her chest, letting her hold me as I cried. Mother didn't speak for some time allowing me to release all the grief I'd been holding in for too long. When my cries quieted, she handed me the handkerchief from under her pillow.

"I know this is hard, Isabella, and I know you don't want to hear it, but you need to listen. Peter is a good man. He obviously cares for you. I'm not asking you to love him, I'm just asking for you to try. He wants to take care of you. He already does. Just let him. Please. It would allow an old woman peace in her final days."

Weeks passed and my mother's words haunted me. Everyday Peter came to look in on us and everyday I tried to talk to him, but the words clung to my throat strangling me until I could barely breathe. It wasn't until my mother took a turn for the worst and Dr. Stowe told me she only had a few weeks—maybe a month—left that I gathered the courage. My mother was dying. I needed to give her the peace she desired.

Peter came at dawn, already feeding the chickens in the yard by the time I made it downstairs. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the ache blooming in my chest as I stepped out onto the porch.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Would you like to come in for coffee?"

He smiled shyly. "I'd like that. If you're sure?"

Forgive me, Edward. I forced a smile in return. "I'm sure."

Peter stayed for coffee often after that day and we fell into an easy friendship. Without him the house would have fallen into shambles—my time consumed with the care of my bed-ridden mother. He trimmed the garden and painted the fence surrounding it. Peter was a true and constant companion. I knew he wanted more. I could tell in the way he watched me, in the way he found reason to touch me. They were subtle and brief, but each one wracked me with guilt. In my heart I was still Mrs. Cullen, but as my mother took her final breaths she implored me to put Edward to rest. She wanted someone to take care of me.

They covered my mother in earth—the clouds overhead dark and ominous that Saturday afternoon—and when the sky finally opened to purge itself in springtime rain, Peter slipped his hand into mine and led me back home. We climbed the steps to the porch as I gathered my hair, ringing out the wetness.

"Thank you, Peter. I'll be alright now." I lied, wanting time to let myself go and weep without any spectators.

"Isabella..." he whispered, his words weighted.

"Please. Don't," I pleaded, my voice softer. Please, Peter. Don't do this today. I don't have the energy.

He sighed, but nodded much to my relief. For two days he left me to grieve, left me to break down until my eyes burned and my bedsheets were permanently stained with tears. I didn't eat. I didn't get out of bed, succumbing finally to the numbness caused by profound loneliness and loss.

I rolled over and pulled the covers tighter under my chin, burrowing down in my quilt. The drawn curtains muted the light coming through the window until I didn't know whether it was early morning or dusk—the unending rain not aiding in my decision.

Morning, I decided when the front door creaked open. It surprised me Peter waited as long as he did.

"Get up, Isabella." He flung open the drapes causing me to squint. "I brought breakfast. Get up and wash. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes or I'm dragging you out."

Definitely morning then.

From then on Peter and I spent everyday together sometimes welcomed, sometimes not. He arrived early and left just before dark.

It tore me apart.

It made me whole.

I craved his presence—his easy friendship. It filled my solitary existence. The gaping wound punched through my chest by the passing of everyone I ever loved didn't seem quite as large. At night, however, when I crawled into bed—the bed Edward and I once shared—guilt riddled me. How could another man make me smile? How could he make me forget for even just a moment? Edward should never be forgotten, not even for a second. He should be in every thought. Every breath. He deserved better.

The next evening, Peter stayed for supper—fried chicken and mashed potatoes. "This is excellent, Bella." My breath caught in my throat as the nickname Edward had given me fell from his lips with ease. "I can't remember the last time I had a meal this good."

"Isabella," I snapped correcting him.

"Forgive me." He ducked his head looking contrite.

"No, forgive me. I didn't mean to—It's just that—"

"Isabella." He took my hand in his, putting a stop to my stuttering. "I'm not trying to replace him. I would never do that. Edward was my friend. I just heard him call you that so many times..."

I nodded.

"Really, Peter. I know you meant no harm. Please forgive me."

We finished our meal and enjoyed easy conversation over tea on the porch until the sun threatened to sink behind the trees. Peter stood to leave, clutching his cap with both hands. "Thank you again for supper."

"Thank you, Peter. I've enjoyed today. It's nice to have a friend." I told him sincerely.

"Isabella," he took a step closer, "I meant what I said."

"Peter, please don't."

"No. You must listen. It's time for you to move on. Edward's gone." I clapped my hand over my mouth in a weak attempt to keep the tears at bay. Peter frowned at my reaction to his words but pressed on regardless. "I'm not trying to replace him. I never could and I respect that, but I would be dishonest if I said I didn't feel something for you—something more than friendship."

"Peter—"

"Let me finish. I understand you are still grieving and your mother's passing has brought Edward heavy to your mind, but I'm here. I'm here and I'm still alive. I've fallen in love with you, Isabella, and I want to take care of you—as a friend—and when you're ready, more. I'll wait as long as it takes. I'm just asking you to open yourself up to the possibility. That's all I'm asking. Please, will you give me the chance?"

This was the way of things. This was what I promised mother. Despite my feelings I could not deny the path I would most certainly find myself traveling if I tried to go it alone. I could do worse than Peter Gibbs. Pushing away everything, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and nodded.

He smiled and took my hand in his. "Thank you, Isabella." He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against my cheek causing my eyelashes to flutter close momentarily. Giving my hand one final squeeze he wished me a good evening and left.

Numbly, I went through the motions of the evening chores before climbing the stairs to my room. I discarded my apron and dress, washing my face and running a damp cloth over my skin before slipping into my nightgown. Knowing sleep was out of the question, I opened the French doors and stepped out onto the walk. A small breeze blew in off the sound and I welcomed the cool respite from the humid air. I closed my eyes and allowed the memories from this place to come—all of them filled with Edward. The night he told me he missed the sea. Our long talks about expanding his fleet. The first time he made love to me under the stars and the weeks and months I spent pacing, staring out onto the sound waiting for his return that never came. It was the place I felt most tortured and the place I felt closest to him. So many memories had been made on the walk and that night it became the place for one last memory.

The place I finally let go.

A/N: Deep breaths.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to Rebadams 7 for the beautiful poem she wrote. It fits well with this chapter.

Oh the bones and hearts

of wayfarer's wives

thick in shared bonds

the sea tells all with

listening hearts

hither well and wise

the widders walk is

borne too much

and trodden well with sighs

~Rebadams 7

Peter and I married in the garden behind my house—only his father present as our witness. It was bittersweet. He was a good man—charming—and he loved me. The following morning I visited the grave marker placed as a memorial to Edward, laying a bouquet of wildflowers at its base. I reached forward lightly tracing my fingertips over his name engraved in the stone.

I wanted to say so many things, but the words stuck in my throat choking me. I'm sorry. I love you. I wish you were still here. Don't hate me. Please understand. Please forgive me.

"Goodbye, my love," was all I managed before kissing my fingers and placing them against the C of Cullen.

My relationship with Peter progressed markedly different. Where Edward and I were whirlwind and consuming fire from the moment we spilled out of childhood, Peter and I grew over time—his presence steadfast—until one day I found I loved him. Although Edward would forever be in my heart, I vowed to give myself over to my husband. He provided for me and loved me dearly. And he was here. He deserved a wife who would give her whole heart.

So I did—every shattered piece. I became the perfect wife. The house was spotless, his dinner was always piping hot, and at night I warmed his bed. In return, he doted on me, buying me trinkets and gifts to show his admiration. He was never unkind and I was happy.

After three months of marriage Peter began talk of expanding our family—a son or a daughter. I obliged—no reason to deny him—and the following year we were blessed with a beautiful daughter, Catherine Anne Gibbs. She became my pride and joy, my reason for breathing. Peter loved her incessantly. And for the first time in a long time, I felt things were going to be alright.

I awoke from a deep sleep to hear Catherine fussing. She hadn't slept well at all lately and I feared she had a touch of colic. I paced the floor for hours until she finally settled down. Laying her back in her crib, I knew sleep would prove impossible thus I crept into the kitchen and filled a kettle, setting it amongst the embers and stoking the coals. With my cup of tea, I had every intention of enjoying a book in the sitting room, but as I approached the foot of the stairs I paused, looking up to the first storey. It had been at least a year since I'd even ventured up the stairs, Peter and I having moved our room into my mother's on the ground floor, leaving the upstairs and all its memories abandoned.

But now I stood staring, and before a conscious thought took place my feet carried me up the stairs through the bedroom and onto the widow's walk. I walked to the edge, my hands gripping the railing until my knuckles grew white under the strain. My breathing became inexplicably labored and I closed my eyes fighting for control of the emotions rising sudden and fierce. Finally, feeling more in control, I opened my eyes to gaze out over the waters of Core Sound. The inky blackness made the sky and ocean seem to blend together into one great abyss. As deep calls unto deep—Psalm 42 came to mind—save a thin strip of silver, the moon having illuminated the horizon infinitesimally. It was only a crescent.

It had been too long since I allowed myself to have a moment like this. Breathing in the salty air deeply, I turned to go when something caught my eye. A dim light broke up the night sky just at the inlet, where the sound emptied into the Atlantic. I leaned over the rail. Surely God would not toy with my heart in such a manner. It would be more than I could bare—more cruel than the jellyfish. Squinting, I waited with baited breath until it was unmistakable. The dim light turned out to be a cluster of three separate orbs, bobbing up and down as a ship would upon the waves.

All rational thought left me as I flew down the stairs and out the front door in my bare feet and nightgown. Finally reaching the docks I stopped, watching as the three lights drew closer. Voices in the distance, growing louder brought me to my senses. I darted behind crates stacked on the main dock—the darkness settling around me.

What was I thinking, running around in my nightgown and bare feet?

I squeezed my eyes shut willing myself to turn and go home. Taking a deep breath, I planned to do just that—putting this nonsense behind me. I could only hope Peter had slept through the whole ordeal—that Catherine hadn't awoke fussing again only to find her mother had disappeared. However, a tightening in my chest arrested me and I gave one last glance over my shoulder. There they were—unmistakable now. Three distinct lights hung from the bow of a ship, drawing closer toward Beaufort. There was nothing I could do now. I was paralyzed at the sight.

"How will I know it's you?"

"Look for the three lanterns hung off the port bow. Besides—you'll know. You'll feel it here." He placed his palm against my chest.

I clasped my hands over my heart trying to capture his lingering touch. I felt it even now—an enigmatic pull. I wanted to run. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and surge impetuously towards the sound. I wanted to hurl myself off the dock into the black water and swim. It was him. I knew it without a shadow of a doubt. I felt it—under skin, muscle, and bone—in the center of my being.

Just like he promised.

But no matter the overwhelming feelings coursing through my veins, I couldn't bring myself to move. I was destroyed with sheer anticipation. The ship glided into the harbor and I could barely distinguish the men rushing about to lower the sails and drop anchor. Time stood still, eternity closing in all at once—sluggish agony. I watched as the first tender of crew descended to row ashore.

I batted at the tears threatening to fall as the men climbed the ladder one by one, until a chaotic mess of bronze hair rose above the dock. My feet acted on their own accord then, carrying me forward without conscious thought until I was sprinting head long passed the first three faceless men—a mere blur— as I ran to my beloved.

And finally I was home.

My body crashed into his, a whoosh of air leaving his lungs as I collided with him. With my arms around his neck I climbed his body until my legs wrapped securely around his waist—burying my face in his neck and peppering his skin with my lips. He grasped my cheeks in his hands and pulled my head away from him, his eyes raking over my face.

"Bella?"

The tears fell uncontrollably as I sobbed out my response. "Yes." I laughed through my tears.

"Oh my god, Bella! I thought- I didn't know-" And then his lips were on mine, his hand slipping around to the back of my head—fingers threading through my hair desperately pulling me closer. His tongue ran across my bottom lip and I opened to him, the need to be closer overwhelming me. My Edward was here. He came back. He kept his promise.

Our kisses slowed when we needed air, until his tongue stroked mine languidly. His hand lowered to rest on my bottom, supporting my weight— his fingers kneading.

"Bella," he pulled away breathless, "we have to go. We have to find some place before I take you here on the dock."

"Yes, anywhere." I breathed, pulling his mouth back to mine. I loosened my legs from around his waist, sliding down his body until my bare feet touched the weathered timbers of the dock.

"Our room. The house-"

"Isabella?" Peter's voice cut through my veins like ice water. I jumped away from Edward as if I'd been burned and turned to find my husband. I looked back and forth between the two men. Edward's eyes clouded with confusion then burned alight with the fire of comprehension.

"Bella?" Edward whispered, doubt lacing every syllable.

Peter stepped forward. "Edward," he said, "you were gone. You didn't come back. Isabella and I—I promised you I would take care of her—we thought you were dead."

Edward's eyes glassed over, his face stricken. "What are you saying?"

"Her name is Isabella Gibbs, Edward. She is my wife now."

I threw my hand over my mouth, turned and ran to the edge of the dock retching into the water. Edward stood stock still, the pain etching his features. I wanted to run to him, to fling my arms around his neck as I had moments ago, to press my lips to his and feel his against mine—to never let go.

"Please," I begged to Peter...to Edward...to God. "I don't know what to do."

Edward spun towards me, his eyes hard and cold, his voice full of anguish. "There is nothing to be done, Isabella."

His words caused my heart to seize in my chest. My knees gave out and I fell to the ground, sobbing as he walked away from me. Without a word, Peter stooped down and scooped me into his arms carrying me back to the house.


	5. Chapter 5

Two weeks passed before Peter and I ventured into town for some much needed supplies. Peter intended to visit the blacksmith to purchase a few more nails needed to finish a project he'd started. He took Catherine with him arguing it made more sense since he only had one stop to make while I patronized both the general store and the post office. In truth though, I felt as if he no longer trusted me with our daughter—having run out of the house that night without a further thought. I didn't remind him he'd left her alone in coming after me.

We had not spoken about what happened at the docks the night Edward returned. Peter avoided the conversation no matter how many times I tried to bring it up, no doubt fearing what I might have to say. And rightfully so, for as much as I wanted to feel remorse about what transpired, I simply couldn't. It was Edward and I loved him still. Instead of working it out as husband and wife, Peter and I had chosen silence.

I dropped Peter's letter by the post office and stepped out to cross the street to the mercantile. Pulling the list out of my pocket, I began going over the items I desired to purchase when something caught my eye in the store window. Edward stood talking to the shopkeeper, Mr. Jones. I continued forward, stopping just inside the door and took a moment to really observe him.

Time had aged him slightly, though not unkindly—the lines around his eyes weaving a tale. He'd gained a little weight, his face slightly fuller and his shoulders broader, giving the appearance of a man instead of the gangly boy I remembered. His face was weathered indicative of his life on the sea and a rough stubble covered his jaw and neck. Edward threw his head back and laughed at something Mr. Jones had said, though his eyes betrayed a deep pain. My heart clenched at the sight, knowing I was the one to tarnish his beautiful smile.

Taking a deep breath, I darted into the next aisle. Maybe it was better if we didn't see each other. Edward made it clear that night on the dock. There was nothing to be done. Surely any further interaction would be torturous and the last thing I wanted was to cause him any more pain.

I turned my back, pretending to exam a bolt of fabric until he left though no such item appeared on my list. Several minutes passed when gooseflesh broke out all over my arms.

"How long are you going to pretend to stare at that material?" I hadn't realized he was so close until I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck. I spun startled and he grasped my arms to steady me, my hands coming to rest on his chest.

"Careful," he winked, squeezing my shoulders once before letting go, my hands falling between us though he never took a step back. We stood in awkward silence, not really looking at each other, our proximity not quite that of intimacy but still closer than good conduct allowed.

"Edward, I..."

"Bella, I..."

We spoke over one another.

"Ladies first," he conceded, dipping his chin.

What did I want to say? My emotions and thoughts lay scrambled about and I fought to seize just one. Everything hinged on this conversation. And nothing did. For what could be done? I was married to another. We had a child. Is it that simple? Do I tell him I'm married now and I love another? For that is what would be right, but as I looked up into the face of Edward, my Edward, the boy I loved and lived for, I could not say those things for they encompassed the blackest of blasphemy.

"I-I don't really know what to say. Sorry is too feeble a word for what I've done to you—to us." I twisted my hands together fretting. Guilt at the path I'd chosen rearing its head.

"Bella, no." He clasped my hands between his, the warmth radiating from them grounding me. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. It's been four years. You thought I was dead. I nearly was."

"No. That's no excuse. You promised you'd come back to me and you've never broken a promise. I betrayed you, Edward. You deserve to be angry with me."

I fought to keep the tears from falling, knowing Edward could never stand to see me cry—not even when we were little, building sandcastles on the beach—the waves washing them away. So it came as no surprise when the first tear forged its path he gathered me to him without hesitation. He pressed his nose to my hair as my arms instinctively wrapped around his waist and simply held me as I cried at the injustice of it all.

When my sobs quieted, he reached behind him clasping my wrists to untangle them from around him, holding my hands once again between his. "Bella, please listen. I'm not angry with you. I never could be angry with you. You're everything to me. I'm glad you had someone to take of you. I'm thankful for that. Peter, he's good to you?"

I nodded, unable to form words for the knot in my throat.

"Then I will learn to live with that."

I lifted my eyes to his, hoping he could see how much I still loved him. "I don't know if I can," I whispered.

I turned my hands over in his palms, lacing my fingers with his until our hands hung together at our sides. Edward smiled squeezing firmly. He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut quickly when something over my shoulder drew his attention. He glanced at me apologetically before letting go and stepping away.

I looked to find Peter standing in the doorway scanning the room. His eyes found mine and he smiled until they landed on Edward. He walked over, giving me Catherine as his hand came to rest possessively on the small of my back.

"Edward," he greeted as politeness dictated, though his tone was unwelcoming.

"Peter." Edward nodded his head and offered his hand. Peter took it, smiling tightly. I watched as the knuckles of both mens' hands turned white, gripping hard.

"Edward," I said, hoping to interrupt the burgeoning pissing contest, "I'd like you to meet Catherine Anne." I pulled the blanket down to reveal her cherubic face. Her pink cheeks glowed against her smooth porcelain skin, her little mouth suckling in her sleep. Edward raised his hand, carefully stroking the downy hair atop her head, a look of pure awe on his face.

"She's beautiful, Bella, just like her mother." He looked up smiling at me. Our eyes locked conveying everything each other was thinking. This should have been us. Our daughter. Our life.

"Yes she is," Peter agreed lifting his hand to stroke Catherine's head, effectively batting Edward's hand away. The momentary spell broken, Edward stepped away.

"I really should be getting on," he began, his posture rigid and formal, "it was good to see you—both of you." His eyes shifted from Peter to me as he spoke.

"Goodbye, Edward." Peter wrapped his arm further around my waist, pulling me tighter to his side.

Edward ducked his head and turned to leave when the sun streaming in through the window caught something around his neck. Stunned, I passed Catherine back to Peter before chasing after Edward. I caught his sleeve and he spun to face me, standing in the middle of Front Street. I reached up, opening the V of his shirt further and clasped the gold chain lying against the smattering of hair on his chest. His body trembled under my fingertips.

"Not here," he hissed through clenched teeth. His eyes darted around wildly refusing to look at me.

"My locket," I breathed, ignoring him. "You still have it." I lifted my free hand and turned his head, demanding his attention.

Our eyes locked and Edward's face crumpled, pain lancing his angelic features as the control he'd maintained in the store evaded him. He grabbed my arms and held me tightly, only just painful. "Of course I still have your locket, Bella. Do you not understand?"

My eyes fluttered rapidly at his harsh tone. "Understand?"

"That this is all killing me. You, him, a child. I've loved you longer than I can remember. You think that just stops? I love you, Bella. I'll always love you."

His words wrecked me and I feared I would collapse if he were not holding me up. "Please! Tell me what to do. I love you!" I screamed, the emotions I'd hidden the past two weeks surging until I felt crazed.

Desperate.

"Bella!" Peter hissed grabbing my wrist and wrenching me away from Edward, causing me to cry out.

"Don't you touch her!" Edward raged, angry at the mere thought of Peter hurting me.

Peter dropped my wrist, but stood his ground, shushing a screaming Catherine. "Fine, but do you think it not best to move your declarations of love to somewhere else besides the middle of Front Street!"

His harshly spat words were like a bucket of cold water being dumped over our heads, bringing us back to reality. Edward and I looked around, only now noticing the faces of those who'd gathered to stare.

I turned back to Edward speaking softer. "I don't want you to go," I pleaded. "I want to know what happened—why you didn't come back?"

"I know," Edward sympathized, "but Peter is right. Here is not the time or place. Take Catherine. Go finish your shopping. I will arrange a time with Peter to talk, when it is more proper to do so."

I searched his eyes, looking for any sign he wasn't telling the truth— that this was it—he was going to flee. Seeing my fear he reassured me. "Go on, love. I promise we will see each other again."

I nodded and walked home, the goods at the mercantile completely forgotten.

A/N: Still with me? I made a banner if you are interested. Check it out on my profile!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thought I would post this early to take our minds off of all the heavy. Of course this chapter is pretty heavy so...yeah.

Many people have questioned the legalities concerning our trio's situation and I told many in review replies that it was coming in this chapter. However, as I was editing, I found that Peter and Edward had a lot more to say and the chapter got really lengthy. So legalities WILL be covered, but you will have to wait until that next chapter. Thanks for your patience.

Based on a true story.

Peter would not speak to me, sitting stoic at the head of the table throughout the evening meal. When supper was through, he kissed Catherine on the head before grabbing the newly purchased nails and a lantern.

"Can we please discuss this?" I asked when he reached the door leading to the garden. He paused waiting for me to continue, but kept his back to me. I didn't know what I wanted to say or rather how to start. How does one begin such a conversation? The tension invading our home was proving unbearable. His shoulders rose and fell once in a visible sigh before he turned, acknowledging my presence for the first time since the incident in the middle of Front Street.

Desperate for any sort of response, I searched his face and what I saw there took the breath from my lungs. An easy going, jovial man, Peter's eyes usually held a brightness—alive with his passion for life—but I saw no such spark lingering. Anger, sadness, hate; all would have been preferable to the despondency possessing them in that moment.

"Don't wait up," he said as I continued to stare in silence. He stepped out onto the back porch shutting the door behind him.

Peter finally crawled into bed shortly before sunrise the next morning, jostling me as the feather mattress dipped under his weight. He pulled the covers up under his arm and turned on his side away from me. Sleep had yet to find me, the sudden upheaval in my life rendering it impossible to rest. I reached forward tracing my fingertips over his nightshirt.

"Please don't touch me," he replied, his voice cutting the early morning quiet. I jerked my hand back, tears welling up and stinging my eyes.

"I'm sorry. Please believe me," I begged, but my plea went unanswered. "Please say something."

"What do you want me to say?" he snapped, causing me to flinch. "You hurt me—humiliating me in front of the whole town. In the middle of the street. Did you even consider me, or Catherine? No! You just declared your love for him in front of everyone with no regard. So forgive me if your words do not mean much to me at the moment. I told you once I would never try to replace him and I haven't—not once. We've built our own life, our own marriage. I've tried to be understanding in this. God knows this situation is not your fault, but it isn't mine either. I'm trying to save your reputation, but you are making it wholly difficult."

"What do you want me to say?" I whispered, my heart twisting inside my chest.

He sighed, continuing in a gentler tone. "I don't expect you to say anything. I've always known your love for me was a mere fraction of what you felt for him, but it was enough because I loved you with my whole heart." He turned finally and faced me. "You were everything to me."

"Were?" The word rattled around in my brain.

"Are. Were. Does it matter? For your everything has returned and I am not he."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to take his pain away, but what was the use? Peter only spoke the truth. At one point in time not so long ago, Peter was my everything, but only because I presumed Edward dead. With his return, there was no contest. We both knew it. Denial was futile.

"What are you going to do?"

"I've asked the Reverend to look into church law concerning these matters. Until then, I will speak with Edward and I will allow him to explain what happened. You deserve that much. All I ask is for you to be respectful of me—of Catherine." He turned away again signaling the end of the conversation.

Peter invited Edward for dinner the following Sunday reiterating his one wish. I was not to see or speak to him any further until the matter was properly settled—for the sake of everyone's reputation.

Sunday came and Peter helped to set the table as the time for Edward's arrival drew near. The strain between the two of us had not lessened since our earlier discussion, therefore it was no surprise when Peter bent close to my ear whispering as Edward climbed the porch stairs, "Don't forget as of right now you are my wife. Try and remember yourself." .

Dinner proved a quiet affair brimming with such palpable tension it stole the words from our lips. The men retired to the sitting room while I cleared the supper dishes and prepared the tea and cake. Loud voices permeated the heavy oak door as I carried the tray to the room. Upon knocking, their argument immediately ceased. Peter open the door, his posture tense. Edward stood on the opposite side, his back toward the door as he peered out the window into the darkening sky.

I crossed the room and placed the tray on the table then took a seat in my usual chair. The men followed suit. Edward sat to my right and Peter to my left in his favorite wingback chair. Still no one spoke and I could no longer stand it. "Edward, tell me what happened. Why didn't you come back?"

"First I have to apologize to you again, Bella. You warned me that night," his eyes drifted to the location of our old bedroom, "and I dismissed your feelings. In hindsight, I know how foolish I was. You and I—" he reached forward and took my hand in his. Peter shifted uncomfortably but had the decency to say nothing. "We've always been inexplicably connected, even when we were children. Our union only strengthened that bond. I should have listened, but my foolish pride interfered. All of this is my fault and for that I am truly sorry." He looked at Peter then, letting go of my hand. "I'm sorry to both of you." Peter nodded, graciously accepting his apology and I thanked God this seemed a civil conversation.

"I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation. We got word your ship never made Virginia," I supplied, hoping to move past formal pleasantries, though I did not doubt Edward's genuineness.

"The plan was to leave Beaufort and sail to the Virginia colony to deliver a shipment of tobacco, but we found every crate infested with tobacco beetles. We had to dump the whole lot overboard for fear they'd overrun the ship. Consequently there was no need to stop in Virginia any longer. I made the decision to sail straight to England, hoping to return home sooner. The seas were calm and I pushed the Maiden Song, spotting land in six weeks time. Once in port, business didn't move along as smoothly as we'd hoped and we were delayed two months."

"Two months," Peter said astonished.

"Yes. The news of unrest in the colonies had reached England and not too many people wanted dealings with a bloody yank."

"The evening after we set sail on the return journey a storm, the likes I'd never seen, blew in—swells taller than the Maiden's royal mast. God, it lasted forever. I thought we'd never see the sun. Our whole world flooded, like Noah and his ark. When it was finally over the Maiden Song sustained severe damage and was taking on water. We abandoned ship and took to the dinghies. We barely made shore before the men were mad with hunger and thirst."

"And the British were not interested in helping a bloody yank," I said, filling in the gaps.

"Not just one, but twenty seven yanks stranded." He paused and took a sip of his tea. Returning his cup to the tray, he grasped my hand again. "Bella, you have to believe me. I wanted so desperately to return to you, but we made a pact. We all left together. We had nothing, no money, no ship and the passage to America proved more expensive for my crew than others. It was four years before we worked enough odd jobs to earn an adequate amount of money."

"Unreal," Peter exclaimed. "Do you think anything will come of it—the unrest I mean?"

Edward shook his head. "I honestly don't know."

He looked at Peter then shifting the direction of the conversation. "No matter what has happened or what the outcome is, thank you for taking care of her—for being good to her," he said sincerely, bowing his head.

Peter nodded once in response.

We finished our tea quietly, Edward's tale no doubt occupying all of our thoughts. I still had so many questions, but it was getting late. Edward stood to leave and Peter and I followed him out onto the porch. "I'll give the two of you a moment alone," Peter said. Edward's eyebrows rose, shocked by Peter's actions. He had been angry and rightfully so considering my poor conduct, but Peter was obviously trying to make this easier for my sake.

As soon as Peter disappeared into the house Edward was there, engulfing me in his arms his mouth on mine hard and firm, startling me in its unexpectedness. This kiss was unlike any Edward had given me—fearful and frantic—leaving me breathless.

"Listen carefully," he whispered after pulling away. "No matter what the outcome, meet me at the wharf tomorrow at noon."

"What outcome? What are you talking about?"

"Peter will explain. Just promise me. The wharf tomorrow at noon."

"I promise."

He leaned down pressing his lips, softer this time to mine, then turned swiftly and left. Stunned, I closed my eyes and touched my fingers to my mouth, the warmth of his kiss still lingering. When I opened them, Peter stood before me.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked.

"Long enough to see my wife kissing another man." His words stated fact, but held no malice.

I shook my head, exhausted from the war raging inside me. Weary and no longer able to fight, the truth poured out. "My heart is his, Peter. It has always been his. I don't know how to change that. I'm sorry I've hurt you. I do love you—as much as it is within me—and I regret nothing. I understand if you do, but if it were my choice—and I know that it is not—I would choose him."

"That may be, Isabella, but the circumstances are not within our control. It is not fair to you and I am sorry to see your heart broken. The devastation is written plainly on your face. But, I love you too much to allow you to play the harlot. You will not disgrace our daughter and you will not disgrace me. Over that, we do have control." He took a step back, putting some distance between us. "The Reverend has obtained the information we need regarding this matter. Edward and I are to meet with him early tomorrow morning to determine what is to be done. Perhaps then we can put this all behind us."

**A/N: Please review. I desperately need the distraction. **

**Oh! I always forget...would love to talk to you all on twitter. I am brodeurgirl30 there as well!**


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning found me pacing the walk to and fro, having laid Catherine down for a nap. Ringing my hands, I waited for the decision that would determine the rest of our lives. Finally I spotted Peter turning the corner onto our street. I had to make my escape before he reached the house or any hope of meeting Edward would be lost. I ran down the steps and out the back door, through the garden and out the gate, finding refuge in the small grove of trees just behind the garden.

I strained listening for the opening and closing of the front door as Peter made his entrance into the house, wanting to make sure Catherine was attended to. Holding my breath, the squeak of the screen door reached my ears and I was off—darting down the street with my skirts in hand.

"Isabella!" Peter yelled, standing on the front porch.

I stopped at the corner. "I'm sorry. I have to see him. Please watch Catherine." I didn't wait for a response.

My pace only slowed to occasionally glance over my shoulder. It wouldn't take Peter long to gather Catherine and follow.

I reached the harbor out of breath with anticipation, my eyes scouring the docks for Edward. He was nowhere in sight. Had I misunderstood him or maybe gotten the time confused? Peter most likely had begun his search and I had no doubt this would be the first place he looked. Perhaps Edward was delayed. Nearly giving up hope, I turned back to the street hoping to see him approaching when I felt two hands grip my shoulders, jerking me behind a post.

Edward's mouth covered mine, swallowing my startled yelp. Grabbing my waist he spun me, pressing my back against the pole he'd darted out from behind, his body pressing so close I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed against my own. He pulled back just as suddenly, leaving me reeling and glanced toward the main pier.

"Peter. He's probably not far behind me," I managed, Edward's kiss leaving me breathless.

I followed his gaze as his eyes scanned up and down the docks no doubt looking for any trace of my husband. A few people were milling around, mostly fishermen going about their daily business. Satisfied, Edward clutched my hand, escorting me around a stack of crates and up a set of stairs leading into an alley.

He stopped abruptly at a door halfway down the passageway, removing a key from his trouser pocket and inserting it in the lock. Pushing it open, he offered me his hand.

"Watch your step."

I laid my palm in his, grasping my skirts with the other as I stepped over the threshold. The room was small with only the basic necessities. A bed sat directly across from the door, pushed under a small dirty window. To the left was a small chest with three drawers, a bowl and pitcher sitting on top. I'd wondered where Edward had been staying and it pained me that fate had led him to such a place.

I offered him a small smile. "This is a nice room."

He snorted, a glorious smile breaking out across his face, lighting his whole countenance and for a moment he looked like the boy with whom I'd grown up. "This place is a dump, Bella."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be. That's one of the reasons I love you—always looking for the good even when everything's turned to shite."

Stepping closer I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair. "Not everything is shite." My cheeks warmed with the curse. "You're alive. That's more than I ever allowed myself to dream."

He closed his eyes, enjoying my ministrations and I could feel the tension finally leave his body.

"What did you find out?" I buried my face in his chest needing to be close to him for this. His arms instinctively wrapped around me, holding tight as we drew strength from each other.

"Bella, do you believe in a life after this one?"

"What?" His question surprised me and I leaned my head back to look up at his face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Please. Indulge me. Just answer the question."

"You know I do," I answered honestly, confused by the direction the conversation had taken.

Edward stared out the window, the muscles in his jaw tensing—the sudden shift in his demeanor frightening me. Finally he looked at me. "You will continue to be Peter's wife in this earthly life—for Catherine—but you will be mine in eternity. You are to be buried beside me, as my wife."

"So I belong to Peter?" I clarified. "I am his wife?"

"Yes and no."

His words puzzled me. I didn't understand how it could be both. "Am I still your wife?"

"Yes." He smiled softly, pleased with the answer. "You are mine. There was never any death certificate. The Reverend should have never married you and Peter."

"Then I choose you." He smiled softly at my words, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind my ear, but I saw a sadness in his eyes still.

"It's not that simple," he said.

"But—" He placed two fingers against my lips, silencing my argument.

"Bella, legally Catherine belongs to Peter." Time seemed to stand still with his words, the weight of them crushing. My knees felt suddenly weak and I let go of Edward to sit on the bed. He sat beside me, quiet for a few moments as I processed all he'd told me.

"Peter is not willing to give her up," he eventually continued and this time his words did not surprise me. Peter adored Catherine, and Catherine he. Edward placed his palm against my cheek, his thumb lightly stroking my bottom lip. His touch was gentle as if I was constructed of the most fragile glass. He knew this was breaking me.

"Are you prepared to abandon her?" he whispered, dropping his hand to lean his forehead against mine instead.

"No."

"Don't you see? I could never do that to you, but I had to know I would see you again. That is why I bargained with Peter."

Capturing his wrist I brought his hand to my back to my cheek, pressing it firmly. I reveled in his touch, using it to ground myself, but harsh reality engulfed me like fire until it threatened to consume me.

"Then I pray I meet death quickly," I whispered, staring into his eyes.

"No, Bella. You must live. I want you to live. I want you to love. Life is but a breath compared to all eternity. We will soon be together again."

"You make it sound as if you are leaving."

He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I am."

"What? Edward, why? I just got you back."

He stood pulling me with him and wrapped his arm around my waist. With my body flush against him, I could feel every inch. "Do you not know what you do to me? Do you honestly think I could stay away from you? I'm not that strong, Bella."

"I don't want you to stay away."

"And have everyone think you a whore? Do you honestly want Catherine to grow up under the shameful murmurings about her mother?"

"No," I whispered, the reality of his words penetrating my cloudy thoughts.

He sighed, loosening his grip only to take my hand in his. "You belong to another—if only temporarily. You will be mine again. I swear it. Until then this is the way it has to be—the way it should be—for Catherine." I nodded as the tears fell. Our time was drawing to a close.

How does a person say goodbye to their everything?

Sensing my thoughts, Edward led me to the door, opening it and pressed his lips to my forehead chastely. He was taking the lead, always trying to bear the burden for me.

"Goodbye, my love. I promise to see you soon." I felt his fingers go slack in my hand, but I could not endure it. I flung my arms around his neck, raised on my toes and pressed my mouth to his. Edward stalled momentarily, his mouth immobile as his breath pulsed against my lips. He gave in then, his mouth crashing against mine as he kicked the door closed. He picked me up and carried me to his bed, laying me down before settling on top of me.

"Tell me to stop," he begged, dragging his lips from my temple down to my jaw.

"Don't stop. Never stop."

"Bella..." he breathed in argument, though his fingers fumbled with the buttons on the front of my dress.

"Please. I want to be with you. I never had any choice. I am still your wife. I need you."

He groaned, the last bit of his resolve crumbling and then we were drowning—lips and tongues, skin and sweat. Sinking further as we sought solace for our spirits with the joining of our bodies. Agonizingly slow, desperate to prolong this moment together we rediscovered each other in reverent touches. My fingertips ghosting across his chest and down the planes of his stomach, my lips dragging over an unfamiliar scar that ran the length of his clavicle—a reminder of the storm that threatened to claim his life. And though I cursed having to let him go, I thanked God for this moment. He was alive. He was here with me.

Edward moved above me, his eyes clenched shut, his breathing ragged as he fought his end—the end that could quite possibly leave us even more shattered. For what was left for us when this was over? Only the sweetest, most devastating of goodbyes.

He rested his elbows on the pillow next to my head bending to rub his nose against mine as he slowed his pace, his strokes long and deep."You feel like home."

"You are home," I breathed.

A tear formed in the corner of my eye before escaping down my temple to the pillow.

Edward leaned down, tracing its path with his tongue, tasting the saltiness. "No matter how long we are apart, I will always love you," he whispered, his lips caressing the shell of my ear.

His words sent fire racing through my veins and I arched into him, clinging to his back, clawing at his skin until he hissed and increased his rhythm. The building started deep in my belly, but I was afraid to let go. I was afraid to give in, of losing the last shred of my sanity as he overwhelmed me until waves of irrepressible pleasure crashed over me and I was undone.

Edward gave in moments after, throwing his head back, shouting my name. He collapsed on top of me breathing heavily as my fingers found their way to the hair at the nape of his neck. He laid against me, his head against my chest as tremors rocked his body. Moments passed before I recognized the tremors for what they were.

Edward was crying.

Silence. There were no words, only our soft whimpers—the English language inadequate for the magnitude of feelings coursing through us. I held him to me, keeping him inside me as close as possible—for as long as possible.

Edward rolled away reluctantly, as the sun dipped behind a small cloud and the room slipped into momentary darkness. He leaned over the edge of the bed, reaching for my dress thrown in haste on the floor, but I was having none of that. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I pulled him toward me until he lay flat on his back. I climbed on top straddling him, Edward's hands instinctively coming to rest at my hips, his thumbs stroking the skin there.

"Today. Give me today," I pleaded against his lips. He answered with a groan, connecting our bodies again.

A/N: Sorry for the really long author's not, but I have received a few questions about the legal ins and outs of this story. This is what I have found in my research if you care to know more than Edward was able to reveal to Bella in this chapter. If you don't care about the legalities PLEASE at least read the last paragraph.

Marriage Law in colonial America:

Women could not divorce in the 18th century. Men could divorce for reasons of adultery among other things. Wives had partial control over their children and servants, but children legally belonged to their fathers.

Death in Absentia Law:

"The presumption of death after the unexplained absence of seven years developed after 1800," wrote law professor Edward Sentell in an extensive 2004 article in Federation of Defense & Corporate Counsel Quarterly. "Prior to that date, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, an absent person was presumed to be living even though he might have been 90 or 100 years old at the time a question arose."

So why did the clergyman at Beaufort allow Bella and Peter to marry?

Cohabitation, bigamy, and serial relationships: while these existed in all the colonies, even in New England, they were much more common in the South. Conditions that in most other colonies existed only on the western borderlands predominated throughout much of North and South Carolina. Many settlers either did not care about sexual and marital protocol or acted on assumptions far removed from those espoused by legal authorities (Godbeer 121). Cohabitation was common, including serial cohabitation (125).

In July 1721 John Urmstone wrote to the secretary of the Anglican Society for the Propagation of the Gospel that he had just returned to London from serving 12 years in North Carolina-among an ungrateful people, whom he described as a nest of the most notorious profligates on earth. Godbeer notes that he had been shocked to discover that migrants often abandoned legal spouses elsewhere and then entered adulterous relationships or bigamous marriages once settled in the Carolinas (119).

The characters as I've expounded upon them certainly do not fall into the above category. However, in my research I found that the Reverend during this time period was sued by one of his parishioners for stealing. He was found guilty and required to pay the victim a fine. Not exactly your upstanding clergyman.

In short, the governing body was across the Atlantic Ocean and the colonies often did things their own way. Other research has shown that women were scarce in the colonies and life expectancy short therefore marriage laws were ignored for the sake of procreation.

Regardless of what the laws were at the time, this is a historical fiction piece. The fact that Bella was once married to Edward, he went missing when his ship was lost at sea, she remarried Peter and had a child, Edward returned and the men settled the dispute in this manner IS the history—the non-fiction part. It really happened and at the end of the story I will provide a link to the historical information. The part I am taking artistic liberties with is their personal relationships and feelings and of course the intense desire and pain this caused Bella, Edward, and Peter.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Repeat after me. I will not flounce in the middle of this chapter. I will not flounce in the middle of this chapter. I trust bg30. I will not flounce in the middle of this chapter.

Take a deep breath...

Based on a true story.

Friendships torn assunder

Impune the stricken heart

Force one to choose

And one to loose

The cannon call to arms

~Rebadams7

The evening sun shone through the window, warming my cheek. I smiled as the events of this afternoon flitted through my memory. Opening my eyes, I turned toward Edward to find his side of the bed empty, a piece of paper on his pillow next to a single daisy. Grasping the paper, I unfolded it hoping beyond hope he'd just stepped out momentarily, but in my heart I knew what it was.

My Dearest Bella,

Please forgive me for not waking you. I could not bare to say goodbye to you a second time. I feared if you pleaded with me my will would dissolve and I would have given in, effectively ruining yours and your family's reputation. Please don't fret for we will be together soon. And when we meet again, I want to hear how you truly lived every moment, for that is my parting wish. I look forward to showing you every day of forever.

I love you, my Bella.

Yours always,

Edward

I laid there stunned. After everything it had come to this—had ended this way. Shock melted into grief and the tears came then, until my eyes were swollen and my throat hurt. Cried out, I reached for his letter, reading it several times, his voice in my head as clear as his scent still on my skin.

Please don't fret for we will be together soon. And when we meet again, I want to hear how you truly lived every moment, for that is my parting wish.

I clutched the letter to my chest, taking deep breaths to gather my resolve. Edward wanted me to live "every moment" he'd said, his "parting wish." I could not control the past or change everything stolen from us, but I could give him this.

I would give him this.

Capturing his pillow, I pulled it to my nose, breathing deep his scent. "For you, my love," I whispered into the empty room. I arose, splashing water on my face from the bowl and pitcher and set off for home.

Opening the front door, I tip-toed through the foyer wanting to delay the inevitable. I made it to the bedroom unscathed and slipped behind the screen to change into a fresh dress. Taking a deep breath, I emerged to find Peter standing in the doorway. His eyes raked over my body from my face to the floor then up again. I focused my gaze on the hardwood floor as he finished his perusal, not wanting to see the coldness there. It was never my intention to hurt him—an innocent casualty.

I lifted my head to meet his stare, only to be shocked by what I found there. His face was soft not holding the sternness I expected, his eyes full of understanding.

"You're glowing," he said, astonishing me. He stepped closer, placing his palm against my cheek. "I haven't seen you look like this in years." His thumb traced softly over my lips. "You look beautiful," he whispered, dropping his hand and stepping away.

"Peter—"

"No. Don't apologize."

His words were sweet, but laced with pain and it grieved me to see his sadness. "I never meant to hurt you," I said.

"I know, but it doesn't make it hurt any less."

I nodded, tears springing to my eyes. "It's over. He's g-gone." I tried to hold it together, but the enormity of the situation settled heavy upon me. Did life need be so cruel? No one deserved this pain—not me, not Edward, and certainly not Peter. He had been nothing but a loving husband and devoted father.

Peter stepped forward, pulling me to him unexpectedly. I buried my face in his neck and cried while his hands smoothed my hair. "I'm so sorry, Isabella. I wish things could be different, but in the end, I am a selfish man. I love you enough to let you go, for I know it would make you happy—but Catherine—my heart could not bear the thought." I understood his choices, for I had been faced with the same and had drawn the same conclusion. I could not abandon Catherine and neither could he. We were a family now for better or worse.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I was a terrible wife. My heart had always belonged to another and though I tried, I knew now Peter never truly had all of me.

"Don't you know I love you?" he asked simply. "I'm sorry life has been so unfair. It hurts me to see you so broken. If I could go back and change it, I would, but I can't. However, I do promise you this. I will continue to love you and I will take care of you for the rest of your life. Then I swear to you I will keep my word. You will be with Edward again. I simply ask for one thing. Try to continue your life here with me. Learn to love me again."

Life did continue. Most days I spent going through the motions, pushing past the melancholia settled over my heart and mind like dark storm clouds blanketing the sky. I fought to breathe—to not slip into the darkness, so easily, but remain present for the good things in my life. Catherine. And Peter—he faithfully kept the words pledged to me the day Edward left.

Still, in the secret places of my heart I wished for the end. It was strange—coveting death. Not so much my own, for the misery I felt day by day made the notion almost humane, but wanting Edward's life to end as well left me wracked with guilt. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to picture him, not worn and haggard from the sea and life as he'd returned to me, but the boy of Edward's youth—alive and vibrant. He deserved life. I allowed the image to bounce behind my eyelids— so beautiful—until my heart clenched with unspeakable sadness, the longing I still possessed for him nearly driving me to madness.

I did try—for Peter. For Edward. I threw myself into my home, my family. I lived and I loved—Catherine and as much as I could, Peter.

As if life wasn't cruel enough, it granted my wish on a warm spring day in 1773—the breeze blowing in from the ocean, trees full to bursting with buds and the first tulips daring to open their petals.

"Isabella." Peter's drawn, ashen face caused my heart to seize in my chest as he interrupted my reading in the sitting room.

"What is it?"

"Edward," he breathed, his eyes drifting to the floor.

"N-No."

"I'm so sorry."

"NO!"

I ran from the house—a madwoman racing through the streets of Beaufort—until I arrived at the harbor just as a group of men raised a pine box onto the dock. My knees buckled and I fell into a heap sobbing against the weathered boards.

"I'm here." I felt Peter's hand against my back, trying to provide comfort that would never come. "I'm here."

I thought I'd died the day he left, but the torment was nothing compared to watching his body lowered in the ground. Surely I was in hell.

And it was in hell I stayed for nearly twenty years.

I tried to move on, to take some comfort in the fact one of us had completed the journey—was on the other side, waiting—but I was never the same. Edward left an indelible mark on my heart, seared like a brand upon the hide.

So much happened during the twenty years after Edward left this Earth. Tensions between the colonists and England did escalate and on July 4, 1776, America declared her independence. It sparked a war that lasted nearly six years before General Cornwallis's troops surrender to George Washington.

America had gained her freedom—a new nation.

During it all Catherine fell in love with a soldier of the Continental Army, William Bradshaw. It was the sweetest and most difficult time. Catherine adored William and he was smitten. It brought back so many memories of Edward and I when we were young. And yes, I finally understood how my mother felt as I heard talk about how my daughter "runs around with that boy."

But, my heart also feared for them. I had experienced profound loss and prayed Catherine would never meet such a fate. I thought my worst fears realized when she fell in love with a soldier. Surely the odds were stacked against them. Thankfully, my prayers were answered and the good Lord looked mercifully upon my her and her love. William survived the war unscathe and they married soon after.

It ended the winter of 1792. I lay in my bed, the consumption weakening my lungs until I could no longer take even a few steps without fits of coughing that left my handkerchief stained red. Peter entered, offering me a glass of water. He lifted my head and brought the glass to my lips, hoping to squelch the insistent hacking. It was too much and I sunk back into the pillows spent.

Peter sat the glass down, pulling a chair to the edge of the bed. I brushed my fingers against his knuckles and he took my hand in his own. "I'm so tired," I said, my voice only a breath.

"I know, sweetheart." He lifted his free hand to stroke my hair, love written on his face.

"You've been so good to me," I told him.

"Shhh, don't talk. Save your strength."

"I don't have anymore strength."

Peter closed his eyes, his head dropping to lay against my shoulder. I lifted my hand placing it on the back of his head as he cried. "I love you so much. You have made my life here on Earth full," I told him sincerely.

He raised his head, his face mere inches from mine. "But you long for your eternity."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't apologize for we are passed all that a long time ago." He leaned forward placing a gentle kiss against my forehead. "Let go, love. Be free. He has been waiting a long time."

"Thank you," I whispered before closing my eyes to the darkness.

~*WW*~

Warmth. It was the first thing I noticed. Not like the sweat of fever, but gentle like the sun kissing my face on a spring day, like the first day you notice after a long cold winter. My skin tingled with it—every sense heightened. The sand between the toes of my bare feet. My skirts brushing against my legs as the breeze blew in from the sound. The sun sparkling off the water as I walked along the beach running adjacent to the docks.

The harbor was quieter than usual, peaceful as the water gently lapped the sides of boats in port. Not a single soul milled about. No one throwing their catch on the pier. No one repairing their rigging. Where was everyone? The wharf usually bustled with activity this early in the morning, but I witnessed no such liveliness as I walked down the main pier.

And then I was paralyzed.

A large ship sat anchored at the very end of the quay, much closer than a ship its size usually docked. How had I missed it? It seemed to have appeared out of this air. I rubbed my eyes, certain I had gone mad. Yet, there it was. Indisputable.

Surely the consumption was causing hallucinations for that was Edward's ship. The Maiden Song. I would recognize it anywhere. I took a hesitant step forward, placing one foot on the gangplank to slowly make my way onto the ship. Once on board, I found the stairs to the main deck pausing at the bottom as a memory flooded my mind, sharp and swift.

Do you believe in a life after this one?

Eternity.

Edward.

I flew up the steps, spinning in every direction when I reached the top until I saw him. He was standing with his hands resting on the railing, staring out over Core Sound. His white shirt fluttered in the breeze against his back. I took the few steps left between us, stopping just shy.

I waited for him to turn, my heart pounding so loud he must have heard it. Even so, I could feel him, his presence more transcendent than sight—just like the night he returned.

"Edward?" I called, but he did not turn. I swallowed, pushing down the threatening rejection. Perhaps I was dreaming.

"I've been waiting for you," he spoke, startling me.

"I'm here now."

"Are you? I've dreamed of this moment for so long, I'm scared to turn around—afraid you'll disappear."

I stepped closer placing my hand between his shoulders. "I won't. I'm here now."

Finally he turned, but kept his distance as his eyes traveled over every part of me. His examination ended at my eyes, his greener than I ever remembered them being. Tentatively, he raised his trembling fingers, hesitating just short of my cheek.

"I'm here," I reassured him, clasping his hand and pressing it to me, finally closing the distance after so long, reveling in his touch again. "I'm real."

The air rushed out of him, as if he'd been holding his breath until his lungs had nearly burst. He stumbled against me, his entire body sagging in relief, his arms encircling my waist. His hold tightened impossibly, hugging fiercely, as if he could keep me from disappearing by sheer will.

"You're real. You're here," he said.

His mouth was so close I could feel his words on my lips, until at last there was no space between us.

In his arms I was finally at peace.

I was home.

Edward pulled away, though didn't let go. Every trace of doubt and fear gone from his face and in its place, his glorious smile. "You are a sight for sore eyes my love. They have craved you longer than I can tell."

His words caused me to blush. "Surely I'm a mess."

"You're beautiful, love." He pressed his lips to mine. Once. Twice. Three times, then took my hand. "Come. Let me show you every day of forever."

A/N: First I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review this story. Most of all thanks to my beta, simba517. We sobbed together on google docs many a night.

As I have said, this is based on a true story. I stumbled across it while on a field trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina with my fourth grade class. We visited Beaufort, the third oldest town in North Carolina and took a historical walking tour that included the Old Burying Ground. Our tour guide stopped at several gravesites and told us fascinating stories about the lives of the people buried there, including an 11 year old girl buried in a keg of rum. The children of the town, even today, leave gifts and candy on her grave. But alas, that's a fanfic for another day...maybe.

It was here I first met the characters whose story captured my heart. What marks their grave as one of significance is the fact it is clearly a husband/wife grave, based on how they traditionally buried married couples in that time, but the wife and husband have different last names. This was the story shared with me regarding Jacob Shepard and Nathaniel and Sarah Gibbs, or as we have come to know them: Edward, Peter and Bella.

Sarah was first married to Jacob Shepard, a seaman. Jacob's ship was lost at sea and he was presumed dead. Later, Sarah married Nathaniel Gibbs and they had a child. After several years, a shipwrecked and marooned Jacob Shepard returned to Beaufort to find that Sarah had remarried. It was agreed that Sarah would remain with her second husband and family as long as she lived but would spend eternity at the side of her first husband.

Jacob Shepard died in 1773, Sarah Gibbs in 1792.

As you can see, the details were sparse, but their story resonated with me in a way few have. My first thought: I wondered if their marriages were those of convenience or if they really loved each other? But then why would Jacob fight for her to be buried beside him for eternity if he didn't love her? I feel the story at least hinted that Jacob loved Sarah very much. My second thought was, my God she lived 20 more years after Jacob died! If she loved him and truly believed they would be reunited in heaven, could you imagine the yearning? She lived through so much history—the American Revolution and the birth of a nation. It blew my mind. Twenty three, 9 and 10 year olds couldn't figure out why their teacher was crying in the middle of a boring old graveyard.

I would like to think it played out possibly as I have written it—that both men loved her, and she them, and the three handled it with as much grace as possible. And I hope that each of them got their happily ever after, Nathaniel in his earthly life and Sarah and Jacob in eternity.

One last quick anecdote and I will leave you with a picture. My ancestors came to America through the port at Beaufort and I have ancestors buried at The Old Burying Ground. My parents asked me to please try and find their grave. I'd looked and looked, but there isn't really any rhyme or reason to the layout of the graves. Head and foot stones are everywhere and many are worn from time and weather. I eventually found the grave about the third time I visited Beaufort as we repeated the field trip for several years. And wouldn't you know it, it is maybe 5 yards from where Jacob and Sarah are buried.

So here is the link. But, I must warn you. If this story has made you cry at all, the photo might do the same. If the link below doesn't work (because I don't understand what ffn does to these things) it will also be available on my profile along with two banners I created for the story.

I hope you enjoyed The Widow's Walk.

Much love,

bg30

tours / Old_Burying_Ground /


End file.
